


Adventures of a Mer Chaser: Ravyn Imyan and the Listener

by DirtyScrolls



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Sex, Dark Brotherhood (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, Fantastic Racism, Kissing, Knifeplay, M/M, Mention of Necrophilia, Morag Tong, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape, Thieves Guild (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, This isn't a nice story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23242108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyScrolls/pseuds/DirtyScrolls
Summary: A former Morag Tong member tells the wrong person about his past.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ravyn Imyan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43
Collections: Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: The Dragonborn and Ravyn Imyan





	Adventures of a Mer Chaser: Ravyn Imyan and the Listener

**Author's Note:**

> Always bugged me that there were no options for dealing with Ravyn Imyan if you are also a Dark Brotherhood member. Here, a mer-crazy Dragonborn takes full advantage of the situation.

“Side of justice, eh?” Kordin asked, evenly, raising his eyebrows at the appealing, but typically arrogant Dunmer currently dangling his slender toes in the Cistern.

“Well, yes we were sanctioned by the--”

“The Empire, yeah. But this was all about some Daedra?”

“Mephala. Yes.” Imyan bowed his sleek head a bit, as if in reverence. 

“And the Brotherhood, on the other hand, are immoral?”

“Unlawful bastards,” spat Imyan, his pretty lip curling. “I do what I can to avoid them. I must, still.”

Kordin assessed the grey-skin for about the hundredth time, only now with new insight. 

Well-cut but sensual features, unblemished medium-grey skin, lanky body. He had liked it all since the taciturn mer first showed up.

“Then you’ve made a rather interesting decision today, Ravyn Imyan”. The Guildmaster told him, settling down beside his recruit, again keeping his voice even.

“And what’s that?” 

“Telling the Dark Brotherhood’s Listener who you really are.” 

Kordin took a lock of Imyan’s slicked hair in his hand and pulled. Imyan jerked away. He looked about to hit Kordin, his high arched brows furrowed, his plumpish mouth an angry line. 

“Now, I don’t like this stuff you have in your hair. I want it out when you come to see me later.”

“You’re--”

“Yes. And if you don’t want to be dragged to the Sanctuary and fucked good there—alive or dead, doesn’t matter—you’ll clean yourself up and be ready for me in one hour.”

“You’d kill a Guildmate. You’re the Guildmaster.”

“I’d kill an enemy,” Kordin breathed. “And you seem like you’d be especially enjoyable to kill.”

Imyan drew himself up, defiant.

“Disgusting n’wah.”

“Oh, come off it, you’re a killer too. Anyway. This is going to be easy for me, no matter what I do, but for you there’s only one easy choice.”

“This is—you’d be raping me.”

“Astute. Though you need not put it that way.”

“You’d do that to a Guildmate.” Imyan’s lava eyes narrowed.

“An enemy, remember. You said it yourself. And a subordinate, too, in case you’ve forgotten. Now.” Kordin kissed Imyan’s shaven cheek. He got up, eyeing the elf up and down. “One hour. I’ll arrange to have the cistern clear.”

Kordin went to the grinder to sharpen his favorite Daedric dagger, the one with the drain life enchantment. He needed a dagger good enough to use on Ravyn Imyan’s fine flesh. He would not say he was afraid of the ex-Morag Tong agent, but he liked to be prepared. And the prospect of putting it to his silken throat, even just to play with him, had him suddenly growing hard as he worked.

On his way to his sleeping area, he picked up some leather straps from a shelf and pulled on them with all his might. Yes. They’d hold the elf, if need be.

Imyan stood next to Kordin’s bed, his hands unconsciously balled up in fists. His black hair was drying in finger-combed clumps around his head, his mouth was in an uncompromising line, and he couldn’t have looked better.

“You wanted me for something,” Imyan said, with near-comical formality.

Kordin laughed.

“I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you, Imyan. And I want you even more now that I know you’ve spilled blood too. Y'know," he said, giving the former assassin what he thought of as a flirtatious smile, "I could've taken you out on a job, cut your throat, and had you, all bloody and gorgeous, no one any the wiser. An unfortunate loss for the Guild. I wouldn’t even need to involve the rest of the Brotherhood.”

Imyan merely scowled.

“Take off your armor,” Kordin told him. “Now.”

“If I don’t?”

Kordin stood up from his bed and partially extracted the dagger from its sheath. 

“I’d cut you before you even moved,” Imyan said.

“And rot in the Ratway for it. The rest of the Guild would hunt you down and dump your pretty corpse there for the skeevers.”

Imyan looked at him steadily, eyes fiery. Kordin looked back.

“I told you I want that leather off that sweet body of yours. Unless you need me to tie you down and cut it off you.”

Kordin again showed the gleam of the Daedric weapon. 

Imyan gave him a dour look and began, slowly, to strip himself, gloves first, then cuirass. His feet were already bare, as they had been before when he was soaking them in the Cistern. The Nord liked a nice pair of feet, and Ravyn Imyan had a very nice pair. 

Finally, Imyan was naked, even the loincloth put aside and folded. His body was a delight, with finely honed limbs and a strong but lean chest, all of it smooth and slate-grey. Kordin licked his lip at the sight, already so hard for his “enemy” he could barely contain himself. 

“Lay back and spread your legs good and wide, Morag Tong scum.”

The self-righteous creature slowly sat and then lay on the bed, his body splayed, but his arms and legs looking stiff, and his eyes closed, as if he didn’t want to look at Kordin. Kordin climbed onto the bed and leaned over him. He placed his palm under the back of his neck, catching strands of damp hair, and began kissing him, trying to probe past his clenched teeth.

“Relax, Imyan,” he ordered. Imyan’s body loosened only slightly beneath him. Kordin unsheathed his dagger and drew it up the grey-skin’s flat belly to his sternum, just grazing the flesh. “I said relax.”

“You won’t--”

“I’d say you got drunk and attacked me. Naked, like an idiot. An ignoble end, wouldn’t you say? Now, legs open. Eyes too. I want you looking at me while I’m taking you.”

The mer obeyed, seeing no other options except the dagger that was now tracing over the skin of his throat. His eyes were like blood seen in firelight. Divines, Kordin was harder than he’d probably ever been. He’d never fucked a fellow assassin before, let alone such high-quality goods.

“I don’t see why you thought you had to resist like that.” Kordin caressed Imyan’s neck with the tip of the blade. “Maybe you just wanted to see what I’d do, hmm? You know, I sharpened this just for you.”

“I don’t—I’ve never done this.”

“I find that hard to believe. Such a fine-looking elf. You never got excited after a kill, went back to one of your favorite guildmates--”

“It was strictly professional.” 

“’On the side of justice’, right. How tedious you are.” Kordin smiled, running the knife blade tenderly over Imyan’s chest, slicing away soft dark hairs, avoiding erect dark nipples. Imyan’s cock was mostly flaccid, and he seemed entirely unaware that it was only mostly so. “A virgin, too. That part’s interesting. So I’d be the first?”

Imyan grimaced, as if the full impact of that thought had just hit him. 

“Yes.”

“Why, in the name of Sithis?”

Imyan grunted.

“No time. I had—skills to hone. Jobs to do.”

“I’ll bet you did. I’ll bet you were very good.”

“I was.”

Evidently deciding to take his slim chances, even this late, Imyan suddenly kicked him, hard enough that Kordin nearly fell back. Imyan went to tackle him, mindful of the dagger. Kordin didn’t use it and didn’t cry out. 

Instead he drove his left fist into Imyan’s firm belly, pressed the advantage of his prey’s momentary pain, and pinned him back down to the bed, using the whole of his superior Nord strength. He felt magicka burning on Imyan’s palms as Imyan tried to push him away. Now he placed the blade at Imyan’s throat, with enough pressure to show he was serious.

“Not a bad try,” he told the Dunmer, who was breathing quickly. “But now I could slice your throat through to the bone. Wouldn’t give you time to scream.” Keeping the dagger in its place, he kissed Imyan’s ear. “You’d be completely at my mercy after that. I’d defile you in every way I could think of, you can be sure.”

Imyan shut his eyes again.

“Now I think I am going to have to tie you down, for my own safety.”

Imyan’s long legs balanced nicely on his shoulders as Kordin railed him. He kept up a punishing rhythm of thrusting and sliding out and thrusting in once more to the hilt. He could see Imyan’s dark grey sack bouncing against his taint, and his half-hard prick, blushing-grey and tapered. And his own prick moving in and out and in and out of that oiled rosy-grey hole. 

“Divines, this is good,” he whispered, pressing their chests together and biting into Imyan’s soft neck almost like a blood-sucker. “You have no idea how this feels.”

Imyan made no reply, but he gritted his teeth loud enough to hear it beyond the slap of wet cock driving into moistened asshole. His muscles strained against the leather strips the Nord Guildmaster—the Listener—had used to bind his arms to the bed. He could have kicked, but the dagger was on the side table, in reach of the Nord. So Ravyn Imyan had no choice but to lie there, humiliated, bent in half with his ankles held up, and take the man’s pounding prick into his burning asshole.

Kordin pushed his open mouth passionately against Imyan’s as he rammed into his warm depths, and this time Imyan just opened his mouth in turn and let him, seeming to accept that not only was he going to be fucked, he’d have to endure being kissed like a lover as well.

“You taste good too, you know that? I can’t tell you how glad I am that you were so… indiscreet.”

Imyan groaned as the Listener forced his legs up higher and gripped his firm ass muscles to drive deeper into him. Kordin’s balls smacked Imyan’s flesh. Imyan was still partially erect, despite his obvious pain. His face was all flushed with shame and with the agony of being taken so hard. His eyes glittered, half-hooded. His hair was a complete mess from Kordin pulling on it and nuzzling his face in it. 

He liked Imyan’s smell—his scalp, his neck, the fear-sweat under his armpits, which he licked with abandon. He tipped Imyan’s face up so he could look into his eyes while he kept up the firm pounding. 

Then the Nord gave his prey a deep kiss. He sat back and pulled out of Imyan abruptly, provoking a pained cry, then another look of alarm as the mer wondered what his tormentor would do next.

“I’m going to mark you,” the Nord gasped, as he began fisting his cock in rough pulls, at the same pace at which he’d fucked Imyan. “Gonna come all over you.”

Kordin shot streaks of white seed across Imyan’s chest, sliding forward so that some of it would land on the mer’s lips and chin, even in his hair. Imyan closed his eyes, the cream dribbling down his face.

“Shor’s bones, this is a good look for you. How pure and righteous are you feeling now?”

“So, how was the new elf, lad?”

“Huh?”

“You sent almost everyone off on jobs, told me and Dirge you needed ‘privacy’ to do the books and then he comes in here walking funny, with his hair all messed up. Looking absolutely delicious, really. So, how was he?”

Kordin sat down, smiling at Brynjolf, and took a deep pull of his cold ale.

“He was excellent.”

“Nice and obedient? Like that mercenary you bring around, the one with the tattoos who doesn’t like to show his face, even though--”

“Sero,” supplied Kordin. 

“That’s the one. I have to say, you have superb taste, lad. So, what was our Imyan like?”

“A little tough, but I got my way. You know how Dunmer are. Even Sero gives me trouble half the time, though he’s far more than willing to pay for his insolence. And he fights like a Dremora.”

“Like I said, great taste.” Brynjolf held his own tankard out in a kind of salute. He laughed. “Do you think I could get myself a piece of our new meat, too?”

The Listener smiled and treasured the secret he held like a jewel.

“I think I could persuade him.”


End file.
